One Dead Eye
by FablehavenFunLovin
Summary: Ever wonder exactly what makes Slade Wilson tick? Ever wonder exactly what Isabel Rochev has been through? Delve deeper into their pasts to discover hidden motives to attack the Queen Family, and how their childhood struggles have made them into the villains they are today.


**Hello Arrow fans! I was a little disappointed with last week's episode, The Man Under the Hood, which aired on 4/16/14. I am Slade fan, and his motive is getting a little dry and one-dimensional, don't ya think? Not to mention Isabel's motive for teaming up with the baddy. Ugh. So here is a fic delving more into their backgrounds, making them a bit more human and more interesting as villains. Enjoy, and leave a review! :D**

Chapter 1: Who I Am

A small child of 5 sat in the sand, rolling his dump truck up a hill for what felt like the hundredth time that day. His dark hair blew in the sea wind, the waves crashing down at the shore. He cocked his head to the side to see the truck from another angle, clutching dry hot dirt in his fist while continuing to leave tire tracks in the sand.

The boy glanced down the beach, to where his brother was standing, waves crashing at his ankles. The young man was laughing, grabbing a skinny and mostly naked woman around her waist and pulling her in for a sloppy kiss on the cheek. The teen laughed again, face turning red, beer sloshing in his hand. The others standing around him also laughed, throwing their heads back to gulp the fermented liquid down their throats.

The boy's brother removed his hand from the shameless woman and used the back of it to wipe his mouth. His wandering eyes landed on his little brother that he was forced to take along, who was staring at him intently from the sand in his swim trunks, clutching his truck.

"Hey Sladey!" he called with a drunken smile. "Help a brother out, fetch me another beer!" he said, gesturing to the cooler with his now empty bottle.

Slade gave a small sigh, rolling over onto the sandy blanket and next to the blue cooler his brother brought to the beach with them. After small shuffle through its contents, he found a new and unopened bottle and hefted it out into his arms. He got up and waddled his way to his older brother past other swaying and yelling teenagers.

Holding the beer firmly in his hands, he presented it to his brother with a smile, hoping to get a small bit of gratitude and attention for his actions.

The teen simply snatched with beer out of his small hands with a quick "Thanks, squirt."

Slade watched with tears welling in his eyes as his sibling popped the cap with a bottle opener and took a long and slow swig. The little boy tugged at the bottom of his shirt, pulling him out of his guzzle, causing him to almost spew beer due to the interruption.

"Brad, can we look for shells?" Slade asked innocently. He had been good on the ride here and for most of the day, so he was hoping to get some sort of time with his brother.

Brad gulped the drink in his mouth down before frowning at his brother in frustration. "Are you serious?"

Slade just nodded, his red cheeks darkening.

His brother laughed again. "Um, no. Not today. Not ever. Go play with your truck," he said, nodding his head in the direction of the blanket further up the beach. Without another word, he turned away and back to the half-naked woman who was beginning to dance on the sand, arms above her head. Many of the guys, including Brad, yelled and whistled, so it was time for Slade to plop back in his spot by his truck on the sand and let his tears overtake him.

Closing his eyes, the little boy began to speak to himself in a way that became a small prayer. "I just wish I had a brother," he sniffed. "A brother who loved me. I would give him anything he wanted. I would just want him to look for shells with me on the beach."

Slade buried his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably, going completely unnoticed by the group of rambunctious teens in the setting sun. The stars were beginning to show before the young boy laid a hand in his dump truck again, forcing himself to push the toy into another solitary adventure.

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"Oi!" Slade called, smashing a fist on his bedroom wall. "Keep it down in there!"

Brad completely ignored his brother in the room next door, too focused on his latest conquest currently pinned under him.

Noticing no change in the obscene noise levels, Slade groaned in frustation, holding his hands over his ears. He smashed his fat headphones further down onto his head, praying that the music would finally overtake him and pull him away from reality.

The boy of 16 leaned against his wall, legs curled up in the fetal position on his bed, hands still glued to the side of his head. He cranked the music louder to where it almost hurt, drowning himself in the words.

_Just because I'm hurting  
Doesn't mean I'm hurt  
Doesn't mean I didn't get what I deserved  
No better and no worse_

_I just got lost  
Every river that I tried to cross  
Every door I ever tried was locked  
Oh and I'm just waiting 'til the shine wears off_

Slade mouthed to words, closing his eyes and getting lost in the rhythm. Just as he was almost calm enough to stomach another math problem, his wall shook with renewed vigor as a body slammed into it from the other side, slamming Slade's head forward and back again violently, into the drywall.

He groaned again, slamming a flat palm against the wall. "Trying to do homework!"

He didn't listen to the response, which was, in actuality, probably nothing. He hefted his math book into his lap and opened to the page where a piece of scribbled-on notebook paper was sticking out, waiting to be finished, before something else could pull him away.

He grabbed his pencil in his hand, tightening his fist around it when the symbols and numbers on the page seemed nothing more than Chinese to him. Tears threatened to burst from his eyes in frustration, but he pushed on none the less, determined to make it through the day as he always managed to do.

Brad had dropped out of high school, and, at age 29, was still living with his parents. But to Slade, it felt as though his brother did not even live on the same planet. As a child, he was thrilled that Brad was not going to leave the family, savoring the occasional interaction he had with his older sibling. The rare act of passing Slade the cereal at forced morning breakfasts could keep the boy going for weeks, but as he grew up, he was coming to terms with the fact that his brother never loved him. He was beginning to even question if he existed to anyone, always feeling so ignored and forgotten.

Slade felt his pencil cracking in his tightening grasp at the same time that he felt himself shaking like a ticking time bomb. Instead of spending time with his brother and discussing the fact that he was failing a majority of his classes in concern, Brad was screwing some slut less than 10 feet way.

_And you'll be lost__  
__Every river that you tried to cross__  
__Every gun you ever held went off__  
__Oh and I'm just waiting 'til the firing's stopped__  
__Oh and I'm just waiting 'til the shine wears o__ff_

He grit his teeth hard, and something inside Slade snapped suddenly. He jumped out of his pathetic position, standing tall. Glancing down at his failure, he quickly grasped the book and threw it against the opposite wall with a fury he had no idea he had, putting a massive hole in the side of his room. He ripped his headphones off of his head before a scream tore from his lungs. He fell to his knees before sobs wracked the body of the neglected boy.

The noises from the other room stilled for a moment.

"What was that?" a female voice asked.

Slade perked his head up to listen to his brother's response.

There was silence for a moment, but Brad's indifferent voice broke the silence. "Probably nothing, baby, don't worry about it, not important."

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Slade was outside of his training tent, forcing himself to do his fiftieth clap pushup that day. Sweat poured down his face, dripping into his army green T-shirt that was tucked into his camouflage pants and onto the hot dirt below him. His scrawny chest huffed hard to keep up with the boy's vigorous training.

With his arms shaking, Slade pushed himself upwards, wincing as he pulled off another clap and mouthing the number fifty. Instantly, he stood, hopping onto his feet. He forced himself into a standing jog, lifting his knees up high and to his chest, arms moving quickly in time with his legs. He puffed his flushed cheeks, blowing out and taking in as much stinging and humid Australian air that he could to keep up with his movements. His dog tags repeatedly came up into his face, but he ignored the rusting metal, keeping his eyes focused on the horizon.

He was too consumed by his training to realize that a figure had come out of the tent behind him, watching him carefully. "You know kid, your lunch is no good if manage you work it out of yourself; take a break, why don't ya," he said, a tease playing at his lips.

Slade felt his heart jump into his throat as he turned around to face the man who had spoken to him. He was no older than 20; his mannerisms and his face still held onto the innocence of his boyhood with manliness hinting at his features. He obviously hadn't killed anyone yet.

The young man let out a small laugh before offering a bottle of water to Slade, who quickly got over his fright, and took it selfishly out of his grasp. He opened it feverishly, and finally chugged the contents back, leaning his entire body back to better the flow of liquid.

"Thank…thank you," Slade said, gasping for air again once the bottle left his lips.

"Anytime, ankle biter," the man chuckled to himself.

Slade stared at him indignantly, cocking his head in faked confusion. He was hoping to avoid all people as much as possible before he bulked up to look more like a man. "Who you callin' an ankle biter?" he retorted.

The man laughed out loud this time. "Brave bloke we got 'ere," he said teasingly. "Everyone knows you lied about your age. What are you really, 14?" he laughed again.

Slade blushed and dropped his eyes, hating to be found out so quickly. "16," he muttered. "I had to make something out of myself or I was going to go crazy. If no one else was going to care about me, I guess I had to start caring on my own. I had to make myself matter in the world." He stared back up into the man's curious and endearing eyes.

Instead of judging the teen, his fellow man in arms thrust out his hand. "We got more in common than I thought. Bill Wintergreen's the name. Call me Billy." His smile was genuine, making Slade trust the man just a little bit more. He would have to start on relationships sooner or later.

Slightly reluctantly, he clasped his sweat hand with Billy's. "Slade. Slade Wilson," he replied, finally catching his breath. "I came here to figure out who I am. Getting away from my brother might help me out."

Billy laughed, dropping his hand back to his side and nodded, agreeing with this statement. He tilted his head back and forth, further thinking about the boy's comment. "Well, this life will test you. Hell of a place to find out who you are"

"It's pretty much the only thing I am good at. Weapons, war strategy, that's about all I have. I flunked out of school."

Billy stared back into his eyes. "When we can't do anything better with ourselves, we defend this country."

Slade chuckled to himself. "Got that right, mate."


End file.
